Poetry

It’s not, as it appears, a single wire wrapped tightly around its base. It’s actually a number of separate circuits that are never really connected at all. But they’re tuned in to the same frequency. They feed off of each other that way, like a little planet directing itself by radio, or like the fragments […]

I didn’t have a body so I built one out of scraps, dragged it over rocks and beat it against mountains until it was hard and smooth. And I saw a vision of earthquakes, lava, morbid obesity and sullen loneliness. I saw the body of Christ as an ice sculpture, saw wasted sex and empty […]

having some serious trepidation about the weatherman’s calls for rain you end up standing alone beside burning buildings and feeling merely out of place you find yourself making myths about the gooey innards you’d keep rhythm by when the night went silent and your boots became pieces of the stiff and sleeping ground you start […]

is that we are disturbed, that this is normal, all these lonely nights and private sufferings; the whole order of buildings and bureaucracies are boundaries around minds perpetually on the brink of madness, loathing, stark tears and uncontrollable anger, all ordinary, matters of course, terrifying in their relentless presence in our lives, terrifyingly thin protections […]

great aimless ones who can become disillusioned on sidewalks, who can read footsteps aloud in spurts of music, who bring dreams like bread and wine. At night I stay in and beat against my windows with brooms, crouching alone inside, waiting for angels of pestilence. I have a very thin skin, and it is not […]

I can’t sleep tonight because the bad moon ever. Because the far dream. I can’t make a hat that can hold the lot of us; it’s hot in here and loud and cold crystal out in space— I can’t drift out here, can’t sleep tonight. Not with my constellation of old bones scratching. Not with […]

I started in the swelter downtown, finding a perch on the stairs by the college and smoking cheap Columbian cigarettes in big hot gulps. Miami in the dog days is humid like the sky is leaning in on you, and everyone is foreign to everyone else. You watch them: a group of Cuban girls wearing […]

der Schöpfer, sans l’adresse e senza un numero di telefono only a paper-trail in omnis lingua και καθοδηγώ μέσα κάθε κατεύθυνση.

“Reality is an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.” -Albert Einstein I flip the pieces ’round themselves in temper-fits that last for days— and while it’s true I tell the truth, it’s only in the thoughtful ways: the green the pastures tell the cars as they go by in smoky fog and revel in the […]

that much about the pressing issues, the wars and revolutions, all universe falling apart and coming together, and all of us, the flesh of us going crazy and coming off the bone— I’m really a lot more interested in music, in the gentleness of thought, the way in dreams we find we stroke the hair […]

You need that second part when the first part isn’t sticky enough— for those really tough jobs, you know? Like trying to build a nest or film a movie— things you might have conceptual difficulties with when you’re on your own